


espress-oh no

by sunflowerrum



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, America/England Feels (Hetalia), America/England Fluff (Hetalia), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coffee Shops, Cuddling, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Swearing, USUK - Freeform, fourth of july angst lol, i guess its kind of slow burn ? more like it takes a hot minute, i love coffee shop aus, two stubborn people who cant admit their faults
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25258357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerrum/pseuds/sunflowerrum
Summary: a simple coffee shop AU ; human AU , slight tw for angstCollege was nothing short of a son of a bitch. Compile that with an obsession for nostalgia and a breakup you're definitely not over. That's exactly how Arthur Kirkland got himself in this stupid situation anyways. Accompanied by none other than a trio of idiots dubbed the bad touch trio, Arthurs life feels quite like a bad coming of age movie. And who could fucking blame him? Shit was down the shitter as expected.New york city wasn't exactly paradise either. Being prideful was both a blessing and a curse. Alfred Jones could surely vouch for this one as well. After making what could have been named as the biggest mistake of his life (besides buying broadway tickets from a shisty website) he's now left to face the bright city with a fake smile and a plastic aura of confidence. Not to say he wasn't a literal walking ray of positivity and sunshine. Just to say that he's also human.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia), Canada/Prussia (Hetalia), France/Russia (Hetalia), Greece/Japan (Hetalia)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey so ive decided to make this lovely fic because I have nothing better to do than procrastinating on my summer work and writing has been super fun lately so here we are and I hope to god I actually finish this lmao. anyways there is a slight tw for angst/slight mental illness in this fic. also not to mention I do have a habit of swearing like a salior ashjdgb. other than that enjoy !! reading with music may possibly be best and I for sure recommend ribs by lorde and burning pile by mother mother . French translations 
> 
> mon ami : close friend   
> va te faire foutre : fuck you / kiss my ass

“I am so sorry sir I'll have that cleaned in just a minute! once again my apologies .'' How in the everloving hell did the ever so prideful twat dubbed Arthur Kirkland end up working at a small-town coffee shop, cleaning some cheap coffee off the floor that /he/ split because he could have /sworn/ he saw Alfred walk through the doors. Oh right, college. now aged 23 the dirty blonde had to make a living somehow to attempt the debt that was ever so surely crushing his spirit. His coworker, Francis who he ‘hated’ was currently trying not to laugh his ass off as he watched the Briton scramble around trying to find a clean cloth somewhere in this godforsaken cafe. finally finding said cloth Arthur quickly got to work while cursing under his breath. Not just at the mess, though it was a good enough reason, but the fact that even after three years he was not over the obnoxious American. After three years every time he saw someone who looked like the American he did a doubletake that would sometimes land him on the floor. As much as Francis or Gilbert would tell him it wasn't worth it and to just move on he couldn't. He tried everything. From drinking with strangers in run-down bars to the ‘ick’ but the blue starry-eyed fuck permanently rented residence in his head. And who was he kidding he knew there was no way in hell of accidentally running into one another. Alfred had of course moved to the city of dreams. New york city. Where you never had an ounce of free time in your life but it didn't quite matter since every single thing you did there was so commercialized it was almost fun. Oh, and where was Arthur? Ah, that's right, run-down Connecticut. What looked like a brilliant place to settle down was actually just the Walmart version of New york. Sure it had some nice views of the ocean and forests. But then again all it bloody had were some nice views of the ocean and forests. But back to the original point being there was absolutely no way he was going to run into the American. And maybe it was for the best. 

Getting up with a sigh he stretched his back out, slightly like a cat, and looked at the now mocha stained cloth in his hands. This was going to be quite a long shift. hearing the snickering of a certain Frenchman he shot as much of glare as he possibly could with a dirty cloth in his hands. Walking back behind the counter to clean out the coffee pot he felt a poke on his shoulder. 

“ Mon ami did you wake up with two left feet this morning ?” Francis was almost full out cackling at this point. not bothering to even turn around he continued to clean the coffee pot while he muttered back a bitter response. 

“ Va te faire foutre bitch .” as much of a pain in the ass it was to learn french and become even someone literate in it, it was always worth it in the end when he could piss off Francis. Not in a way that would genuinely upset the Frenchman, but just enough to get under his skin. 

“My my you must learn the language of love only to butcher it. Truly a shame.” Arthur could hear the fake despair that was entangled in between the french baristas words. The brit let out a quiet chuckle as he went over to the next customer to take their order. After finally reaching the register a small smile graced over his lips at the familiar customer. Antonio . also known as his dorm mate that totally did /not/ hear Arthur sobbing over Taylor swift's first album within the first week of moving in. nope absolutely not. 

“ Fancy seeing you here, I suppose you're going to take the regular ?” Arthur questioned , with a small smile, Antonio shook his head. 

“Nah, think imma try something different, like that mango tea on the menu. Looks beautiful!” Antonio was practically exclaiming this to the rest of the restaurant with how enthusiastic he was about his goddamn mango tea. Letting out a good laugh Arthur quickly grabbed a cup to make the drink. Dubbing the name for the order as ‘obnoxious bastard’ he got to work. 

As much as Arthur could bitch about his job he wasn't able to deny that there was just something so soothing about these coffee shops. Maybe it was the smell of mocha that would linger in the air and follow you home. Or perhaps the steam that emits from an ideal cup of earl grey that can warm anyone on a cold New England day. And now granted Arthur also was not the best cook (Antonio could vouch for this) he did seem to be able to have a slight talent in cafe drinks and deserts, and seeing as there were no complaints. It was a win-win all around. 

Finishing up the tea in almost a record time he gave a small spin on his left heel and faced the Spaniard with his “beautiful” drink. Though Arthur would admit that he did make it look pretty damn good. 

‘Aw thanks man you're the best !” giving a signature flashy smile he took a sip before rambling on about how this might become his new regular before leaving the coffee shop. Rolling his eyes Arthur went over to Francis. Tapping the Frenchman on the back he mouthed a quick ‘im going to the washroom please cover my ass’ and then sprinting off. 

Closing the door he proceeded to take a good look in the mirror. Eyebrows just as bushy as ever took the focus in this study until he moved on to acknowledge the rest of his face. Underneath his olive-green eyes sat eyebags from sleeping at 4am and waking up at 9am. There were the slightest marks of freckles that littered almost permanently rosy cheeks amongst porcelain skin. As nice as it was that his almost walking ray of sunshine roommate came in he couldn't help but be shaken up about the incident that had just happened prior. It always and forever would bother him how shaken up he was about Alfred leaving. Even thinking about that dreadful conversation made him feel sick and teary-eyed. 

Independence. That's what the whole bloody conversation was about. He was a ‘free spirit’ and needed ‘me time’. Arthur had thought he had given him enough of that but apparently not. Because the last fourth of July party he ever went to three years ago marked a fight that honest to god would have made you think one had called war on the other. In ended with Arthur yelling as per usual and Alfred just straight up walking out and driving away. And after the damage had been done Arthur was then promptly left on read. No matter how many promises or bearings he would try and make with the American it didn't work. And it broke him inside. It hurt like nothing other than to see the man he oh so unfortunately was in love with live out everything he wanted to be. While he was stuck in student debt for a psychology degree working at a blasted coffee shop. The best part about that being even with that stupid degree he was never able to take his own advice. Giving himself a little pep talk of, “Mama didn't raise no bitch” he walked out of the washroom with pride and back out onto the shop. Thanking God it had stayed slow and hadn't gotten any busier, he putzed around making himself a cup of earl grey to stuff in a thermos for later. 

And that later came rather quick. Between lack of customers and small talk with Francis the time seemed to fly by . flipping the open sign to read closed, the brit let out nothing short of a sigh of relief which earned a laugh from Francis. 

“I don't think my feet have hurt this bad in a while.” Francis snickered. Arthur nodded obnoxiously in agreement as he almost threw his apron off. Making sure that everything was in the places that it needed to be. They both made it their mission to clean up shop before saying their goodbyes and walking to their cars. 

Hopping into his own lime-green Volkswagen bug he started the car hearing the familiar Dead Kennedys album start to play through the speakers. Humming the lyrics on his way back to his dorm with Antonio he felt oddly at peace. It had been a bit of a while since he felt this way after the whole fourth of July era and it was refreshing. So what if he wasn't over Alfred. It almost just felt better to come to peace with his feelings rather than try to bottle them all up and end up drinking a bottle to try and forget them more. Pulling into the parking lot Arthur stepped out with a string of curses flowing from him. God retail was a bitch on your legs. Exhaling loudly Arthur began his adventure up the three fucking flights of stairs it took to get to his bedroom. 

Eventually reaching his room he noticed that there was a notice from said bubbly roommate Antonio, apparently, he was out with gilbert and Francis and probably wouldn't be home by tomorrow. Which was damn fine by him. The little trio in question had decided to dub themselves the ‘bad touch trio’ which was an absolutely preposterous name according to Arthur, and with that knowledge, the gang of dumbasses dubbed him an honorary member. Though as much as Arthur would deny it, that little gesture meant a lot, even if he rarely said yes to their little outings. 

Sitting down on the sofa with the thermos full of tea from the shop, Arthur yanked the blanket that laid on the side of the couch and curled up, the remote in his hand. Flicking his way through the menus to get to Netflix he went for his all-time favorite show. The inbetweeners. The additional bonus was also the fact that the brit did not have work tomorrow. Nor did Francis, instead it was two young men named Honda Kiku and Heracles Karpusi. 

Getting settled in Arthur had decided to reflect on some things. Sipping slowly at the tea in front of him he got lost a bit in thought. Maybe it would just take time to get over Alfred, maybe a couple more good cries , a dozen more Instagram page visits, and a ton of drunk questions aimed at said bad touch trio, but everything would be ok. Right? 

Of course, it would. He /is/ Arthur fucking Kirkland after all.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of Alfred 'Freedom' Jones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took so long with school and life I apologize for how late this came out. However, I do have to thank the people who gave kudos/enjoyed this fic. It means the world to me!! 
> 
> also the song Mr. Loverman was just too perfect pls

Alfred Jones was doing what any average American who had moved to New York City would do. Sit his ass on the couch with an overpriced burger and sob to the notebook. That's right, Alfred who was now known as a popular influencer on Instagram whose claim to fame was posting said overpriced burgers and other calorific goodness this city had to offer. But instead of living out the nightlife, getting ‘schmacked’ and even maybe doing the devil's tango with a fine young man or woman, he was sobbing over the fucking notebook. This was the third time this month. And now why was he so hellbent on watching this cheesy Hollywood manufactured romance? Well according to him it was because he couldn't help but appreciate the wonderful cinematic choices the directors made and the emotional acting the actors could portray through a pixelated screen. But if you asked his friend Lovino he would tell you this because he still cant over the fact that he dumped his ex-boyfriend three years ago at a fourth of July party that just so happened to be his birthday. What a gift. It wasn't that he didn't love the British man anymore. It was a fight that he didn't know how to handle. Of course, Alfred wasn't stupid, he damn well knew it took two to tango, and they both had their faults. However, he couldn't help but think about if he had just grown some balls and responded to Arthur's last text. How different could have things been? 

“Hopefully better than fucking THIS.'' Alfred half shouted as he waved his hands in a dramatic gesture toward the flatscreen. Fuck the movie was almost over anyway. Briefly directing his totally not tear-filled blue eyes toward the clock he read that it was only 1:13am. That shady club on the outskirts of NYC was always open. And what better way to avoid your troubles rather than to drown them. 

Now granted being the extravert Alfred just so happened to be, there was always something beyond refreshing about hearing the speakers almost burst for the music that blared throughout the area as well as the other people going absolutely batshit to the music. Firstly heading to the bar he sat down onto the rum covered stool and ordered the usual ‘Smirnoff red white and berry’ in a can. Receiving his drink he gave a flattened smile to the bartender and began one of his many drinks for the night. No matter the price, Alfred really needed to forget about Arthur. It had been years, not to mention Alfred had pretty much ripped Arthurs's heart out and threw it in the Boston harbor. 

“ You look a little down. Is everything alright?” hearing the familiar accented voice Alfred looked up to see Elizabeta. Although the two never really had an in-depth conversation Alfred /did/ remember her as Roderich's girlfriend. He saw why the pianist was interested in the dirty blonde. She was always so compassionate however she wouldn't be afraid to kick one's ass in a heartbeat - including Roderich's. In a way, it was quite endearing.

“ Yeah more or less. You know how city stress is.” the American flashed a toothy grin and took another long sip from the patriotic-ish can in front of him. Elizabeta responded with a roll of her eyes and a sip of what looked like a nice fruity cocktail with a cherry. 

“ Seriously you need to prioritize yourself over your following. I get all thirty-five thousand of your little alf-lings love your foodie posts and sunset pictures but don't stress yourself out to the point where your eye bags are practically designer.” the Hungarian gave a light laugh at the end of that statement whilst Alfred placed a soft hand to the said designer eyebags and cursed under his breath. She wasn't wrong, they were quite puffy. Alfred then finished up his can on Smirnoff ad decided to speak again before ordering another 

“Don't worry too much about me Lizzy -”

“Don't call me that .” Elizabeta interrupted. 

“Fine, you're lame, anyway don't worry about me, seriously, you know I can take care of myself. Im totally cool.” giving the most convincing oscar worthy performance of his entire goddamn career, Alfred chose to reward his magnificent acting skills with another can of heaven. 

“If you insist, if you're lying I swear I'll beat your ass.” with that being said the Hungarian got up, gave a short little ruffle to Alfred's hair, and walked off to go meet who Alfred could only assume was Roderich or one of his music friends. Looking down at his can Alfred's smile imminently dropped. This was gonna be a long night. 

However, cutting to twenty minutes later Alfred was now three and a half cans in, staring intently at the flashing lights because as he put it, ‘they were just so damn hypnotizing.’ but alas Alfred still remembered Arthur. He remembered how he always wore sweaters no matter what the weather was, and Alfred would never tell him but he thought Arthur always looked adorable. He remembered how (surprisingly) Arthur liked the humidity, especially after it was hot and it had just rained. He remembered exactly how Arthur even took his stupid tea; earl grey, four sugars, and a dash of milk. Hell, he remembered the way when the light caught Arthurs's eyes just right they looked like actual fucking emeralds. 

“I am a fucking idiot,” Alfred mumbled to really no one in particular as he now finished his fourth can. 

‘“Damn right you are, you look like a mess how many cans of that shit did you drink ?” hearing the all too familiar sarcastic Italian voice, Alfred whipped his head around so goddamn hard he almost fell out of the old barstool he currently resided on. 

“Lovi? when the hell did you get here?” Although the blonde words were beyond slurred, after years of experience Lovino had learned to decode what it meant. 

“Elizabeta texted me, she said you were staring at the lights for a half hour. That's not something that someone ‘totally cool’ does. I'm driving you to my place, you can stay the night, don't need you doing anything stupid while this intoxicated.” Lovino had put over-exaggerated hand quotes around the words ‘totally cool’ which earned a frown from Alfred. 

“Fineeee, I get to pick music though.” giving a wide smile Alfred ungracefully got off the stool ( with little help from Lovino ) and made his way to the club exit. 

It was a pretty uneventful car ride for the most, Alfred continuously kept playing some old 80’s hits and Lovino used all of his self-control to not drive the car off the road if he heard Bon Jovi's ‘ Living on a prayer ‘ one more time. 

But Alfred changed up the playlists and the genre changed quite drastically. Alfred slumped back and admired his view from the passenger window. Even with the curses of Lovino's road rage, Alfred could still remember him. It wasn't fair. 

“Is this Mr. Loverman -- Alfred are you drinking because of Arthur again?” said American was snapped out of his thoughts as he turned to face his Italian friend who for once instead of annoyance had concern plastered all over his face. 

“Glad you know my go-to cry songs.'' Alfred joshed back a little, however, it still didn't change the look on Lovino's face. 

“Alfred you've gotta do something about this, it's been years, I hate to sound harsh but you've got to move on or fight your damn hardest for the thick browed stubborn brits forgiveness,'' Romano responded, pulling into his driveway. Alfred was quiet while he got out of the car and into the house. 

The words echoed throughout his mind, ‘do something about this’. So dammit he would. Laying down onto his side Alfred opened up his message settings and did something he would consider almost revolutionary. 

He finally unblocked Arthur fucking Kirkland.


End file.
